


And I will try to fix you (x4)

by lisafyra



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2020 Season, Carlos going to Ferrari, Fix-It, Gen, George at Mercedes, George in Sakhir, Nico's complicated relationship with the podium, Slice of Life, aka 4 unconnected / stand-alone scenes, the Monza GP but different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28610244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisafyra/pseuds/lisafyra
Summary: …or the one about my four major heartbreaks during the 2020 F1 season and how I'd like to fix them.
Relationships: Lando Norris & Carlos Sainz Jr, Nicholas Latifi & George Russell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: Winterbreak Writing Challenge (2020)





	And I will try to fix you (x4)

**Author's Note:**

> ...I said it, new year - new stories! And so here I am again :D
> 
> I'm starting off this new year of writing F1-stuff with a little recap of the 2020-season, as part of scarletreds Winterbreak Writing Challenge:
> 
> For this week, the prompt is: _"If we could turn back time: Fix-it fic about your biggest heartbreak during this past F1 season. A race gone wrong, a moment that didn’t go like planned, a market move… anything that left a bitter taste in your mouth, this fic is the chance for you to make it all better (at least in the fictional world!)"_ \- and as soon as I had read this, I just knew I had to write something for it. I mean - we all agree that there's been plenty of heartbreak last year, don't we?
> 
> So - lean back, relax and let me fix it for you (at least partly) with this one ♥
> 
> (P.S. Title is taken from the lyrics to Coldplay's "Fix You" ♥)

**Madrid, somewhat around early April - pre-season.**

Sitting outside on his terrace, Carlos Sainz jr. was lost in thoughts. Although he was a warm-weather-type of person and usually glad to see spring around the corner after a long winter, he couldn’t really enjoy it today. He just didn’t have a head for listening to the birds in the branches singing their songs again or for how nicely warm these first beams of vernal sunlight felt on his skin. All that went completely unnoticed by him today, as he only stared at the pieces of paper on the table right in front of him.

He’d been doing so for certainly at least ten minutes now, actually, and yet still couldn’t stop. More like it, he felt like he could hardly look on anything _else_ than said sheets of - brilliant white - paper, almost as if they had become the centre of the universe and everything else circulated around them now - well, it was true for his thoughts, _his_ universe and headspace at least.

For the past days, these printouts had completely taken over most of his mind, leaving little room for other stuff, less and less with each day passing. Whether he had been scrolling through social media on his phone, cooking his dinner, or during his morning run, it had followed him in his thoughts - or more precisely, what was written _on_ them. _The offer._

Still leaning back in his chair, with his folded hands resting on top of his belly and his right foot jiggling tensely, Carlos watched the papers from a distance as if they were an alien species. He didn’t need to take them into his hands and read them again - by now, he knew exactly what it said on each of the pages anyway, since he had read them through often enough for the past two weeks to know every single word by heart now.

Just by looking at the sheets, he could almost hear the text echoing in his head, together with the voices of his father and his cousin, telling him what an amazing opportunity this was. Ferrari! The legendary brand!

How many kids already in karting dreamt of driving for this team one day, how many aspiring talents in lower series would sacrifice everything to just drive such a car _for once_ in their lives? And how many got to do it, in the end?

Carlos could almost see the enthusiastic faces of Caco and his dad before his inner eye, from when they had told him about the offer. They had summoned him at the office that day with a mysterious call, not wanting to reveal the cause on the phone. But in the moment that he had joined them in their little conference room, he had seen it in both their faces, the good news - and then they had dropped the bombshell, hardly able to stop smiling from ear to ear.

Before he knew, they hadn’t been sitting on their chairs anymore and one after another, they had hugged him all overwhelmed with joy, showering him with congratulations. Especially his dad had looked so proud when he had shaken him by the shoulders, telling him that this finally was what they’d always been waiting for, the golden chance, his ticket to the stars! And he had looked so confident, so certain in this moment, that it had been hard to not believe him on that-

But, assuming that his dad and Caco were right… why didn’t it feel like this for Carlos, then? Why wasn’t he able to share the joy of his closest companions in the whole F1 circus?

Well, okay- of course he had, in the first moment of surprise; how could you not if you’re suddenly told that the most prestigious racing team in history wants _you_ as their driver?!

He had driven home as a very happy man two hours later, after they had talked through the contract offer in all detail, even popping champagne in the office, and Carlos just had not been able to believe how lucky he was.

They had agreed on taking some days to let the emotions settle, before going into detailed contract negotiations with Ferrari, so that Carlos could clear his mind over what he really wanted and needed from the Italian team - in terms of salary, especially.

He remembered driving through the rush hour of Madrid with a big, big smile on his face, thinking how bizarre this was, that others would willingly pay thousands to get their hands on a Ferrari steering wheel and that he _got offered_ money to do it. Not even the insane traffic had been able to spoil his mood. _He! Would! Drive! For! Ferrari! FOR REAL!_

The only shame about it had been how he wasn’t yet allowed to tell Isa, when they had been phoning in the evening. With no doubt, his better half would have been so happy for him, too, and Carlos had found himself eagerly awaiting for it to be official enough to let her know.

However, when he later had been lying in bed all on his own, sleeplessly staring at the ceiling, his euphoria had slowly, but surely declined the more he had thought about it. The more he had realized how much would change for him if he accepted this offer.

Of course, it was always about change and _adapting_ to change in their business and until now, Carlos rarely had had a problem with that. For him, it had been a synonym for progress, for moving forward, for getting closer to reach his goals, and so he had used to welcome it with open arms, eager to go higher, faster, further on his way to become a F1 champion.

It had been his biggest dream since the early karting-days and it still was, so he knew he should consider himself beyond happy to have a top team interested in him; especially after the painful experience of being stuck at Toro Rosso, with no chance to get promoted to the Red Bull primary team anytime soon.

And yet… he didn’t feel it, quite. Not to the extent he thought he should. Rather, for the first time in his life, he had found himself somewhat skeptical towards the upcoming change. Downright hesitating, on from the morning after the bombshell.

He couldn’t really explain it to himself either, it was just… a certain… _feeling_ in his guts, that made him wonder wether this was the right way to go for him.

Of course he was aware that, even if the team with the prancing horse had struggled a bit in the last season, this still was an enormous chance to get his hands on some more trophies in the future. And as it was their hunger for competition and being the best that made all the drivers race at all, in the first place - how could he _not_ want this, being able to win races?

And a part of him still wanted it, also, so he had tried to suppress the rising doubts with all his might, telling himself that it was normal to question things when something that big happens -

However, there had also been this other voice inside him, only quietly whispering at first, drowned out in the initial euphoria. But ever since the morning after, it had gradually grown louder and therefore had become harder and harder to ignore whereas it reminded him of how much he actually loved being at McLaren.

When he had joined the team, he had had a rough year with unsatisfying results at Renault behind him and had honestly felt a little lost, questioning his racing career as a whole.

But the papaya team had made him feel welcome from day one. Wether it had been his amazing engineers and mechanics crew, Charlotte and the other lovely PR employees, or even Andreas and Zak themselves - each and everyone had given their best to support him and Lando.

Oh, let alone Lando! The young Briton was not only his teammate anymore, but had become one of his closest friends. Their relationship was truly something Carlos had never experienced before in all his years of racing and also something he would never have thought to be possible in motorsport at all. Same was true for the overall team-spirit in the McLaren garage, on- and off-track.

Without doubt, the team from Woking was by far not just another station of his career, as he had thought before. He had found _family_ there.

And now, on the last day of thinking time, he was sitting out on his terrace and wondering if it was worth it to leave all this behind for Ferrari - a question he had turned over in his mind for no-idea-how-many times and yet couldn’t find an answer to.

But before he could try again to come to a conclusion, the vernal breeze suddenly freshened up and caused the pages to dangerously shudder on the table - but thanks to the excellent reflexes of a professional racing driver, Carlos managed to jerk forward and whack his hand at them just in time, before they could get blown away-

And there he was, holding these sheets of paper in his hands again that could literally change his life.

It was a big chance, everybody has told him so - and yet, he could only think of one thing as he looked at the pages: What if he had _not_ managed to catch them now, if they had flown away, scattered in all four winds? Of course he knew that this was not the only existing copy and that they could have simply printed it out new, but imagining that it was not - what would it have made him feel like? If his only chance to drive to Ferrari would have been gone? Would he have… minded? Would he have been sad, shocked, angry? Or maybe even… relieved?

And as much as it made his stomach twist with unease, the answer was obvious in his head. It had always been. With the papers still in his hand, he jumped to his feet and went inside, to get his car keys. He had to drive to the office.

His heart was hammering like crazy in his chest and his hands felt sweaty, as he made his way through the office hallways a good twenty minutes later, and not only because he took the stairs instead of the lift. No, the mere imagination of the upcoming confrontation alone scared the shit out of him, but he also knew that it was inevitable. He needed to make this clear and to have this straight talk with Caco and his dad, if he liked it or not.

Coming to door to the conference room, just like exactly one week ago, Carlos took one last, deep breath to brace himself for what would follow next (if that was even possible), then he pushed down the handle and went straight in.

 _“¡Ah, Chili! ¡Ahí tienes!” (Ah, Chili, there you are!),_ Caco said as soon as he stepped into his cousin’s field of vision and also his dad, who was sitting with his back toward the door, turned around, smiling at the sight of his son - but Carlos didn’t smile or greet back.

He just walked straight towards them, took the bunch of papers out of his bag and threw them onto the table, letting the sheets sweepingly slide all across it - probably in a more dramatic manner than necessary, but at least he so had both his cousin and dad’s full (albeit confused) attention, when he blurted out the surprising, but undeniable truth: _“No lo quiero. Quiero quedarme en McLaren.” (I don’t want it. I want to stay at McLaren.)_

***

 **Silverstone, August 9** **th ** **\- 70** ** th ** **Anniversary GP**

When Nico woke up, he at first was scared that he might still be dreaming and that the hotel room would fade away in the next second and instead turn into his own bedroom in Monaco. But, to his delight, it didn’t: The sight stayed the same even after a few blinks of his eyes, and so it gradually dawned on him that he was not just imagining this in his sleep - and that he had not just made up anything that had happened during the last ten days neither.

This realization caused his lips to curl into a smirk as he sat up in bed, only to let his gaze wander across the darkened room once more, eyeing up every shadow and scheme of his accommodation. But even now - the setting didn’t change: The hotel room with the bed, the cabinet in the corner and his suitcase next to it, the picturesque Silverstone Circuit just outside the window, which apparently was already awaiting the typical hustle and bustle of a F1 Grand Prix - all of it was really there, and so was Nico himself.

The German felt the thrill of anticipation welling up inside him.

As much as the last days had indeed felt like a dream, he was actually here, in order to once more jump in for Checo like he had already done last week, as the Mexican was still in quarantine with his Covid-19-infection.

Still sitting in bed, he recalled these crazy days in his thoughts, starting with the phone call last Thursday, followed by his abrupt departure from Monaco, when he had been taking literally the first plane available to get to the UK. Next the hurried preparations with the team, such as his own Covid-test, the seat-fitting and also last-minute organizing a racing suit for him in his size, of course. And then, already on the next day, he had been sitting in the car again. Something that he had definitely not expected to happen again so quickly, after he had dropped out of the driver pool with the end of the last season.

However, his grandmother always used to say that “things seem to happen when you least expect them!” and as so often before, her wisdom had proven to be true again, because there he had been: Doing lap after lap on the Silverstone circuit as if he’d never been away from the grid, pushing hard for good lap times and fighting his way through the qualifying on Saturday. And even though it had been exhausting as hell, as Nico was not in excellent trim anymore and he also had to get used to the foreign car at first - but oh boy, it had been hell a lot of fun for the German, too. Just to get behind the wheel again at all, even, not to mention the thought of actually participating in the Grand Prix! This had felt like a mixture of birthday, Christmas and school’s out for summer all at once for Nico - no wonder that the engine failure on Sunday, which had forbidden him to take part in the race at the last minute, had been all the more painful. Watching this once-in-a-lifetime-chance vanishing before his eyes, Nico had already been mentally packing his suitcase right during the race, as he had definitely expected that to be “it” then -

And yet here he was, getting another go, while Checo was still waiting for his Covid-tests to come out negative again!

_Wow._

In hindsight, as Nico had to admit, the last ten days partook of an epic movie plot, only awaiting the grand finale - and chances were high that exactly that would happen: A grand finale.

Adrenaline surged up within the German, at the memory of what had happened during the qualifying yesterday.

To be honest, he hadn’t had too high hopes when he had left the pits, probably the team neither, because even if he had done a good job last week and also had completed all the practice sessions of this week, it still had been only little time in motorsports-means that he’d spend in the car. Too little to be competitive in quali, as he had reckoned, where your one fast lap (and even more your _one_ little mistake) makes all the difference.

So from the beginning, he had his hopes rather focused on the race, knowing that even if he might not be able to keep up with the others in terms of lap times, he still could rely on his overtaking- and overall racing skills.

But against all odds, the car had felt very good yesterday and he had been so comfortable in it as if he’d never driven anything else in the meantime - which had also been showing on the data and his lap times, that had not been bad at all. Somehow, he had even managed to make it into Q2, and then, much to everyone’s surprise, also into Q3-

And that had been where had blown them all away; team, press, viewers on the television, not least himself - because he’d been so quick in this last part that now he was starting third today.

Nico still had no idea how he had done _that,_ which he had also admitted with a big grin in the post-quali-interview - but somehow, he _had_ done it and this was the reason why his phone was bristling with encouraging messages from his friends and family, who were wishing him the best for today, telling him they believe in him and that he should “go get ‘em, tiger!”.

Nico couldn’t help but smile as he read through some of them. Because of today’s tightly filled schedule, he’d have to delay answering back to somewhat later, but he at least wanted to spare a minute to take in all the goodwill and support resonating between the lines - it was really heartwarming.

Egle had even sent him a thumbs-up-selfie together with their little fluff-ball Zeus, writing that they both would be keeping fingers (and paws) crossed for him today and that they loved him, no matter what. Actually she was not the only one who had included this little reminder, quite a few people had done so (above all, his parents) - stating that they believed in him, yes, but that they, on the other hand, also won’t like him less if things maybe don’t work out today. That he shouldn’t put himself under too much pressure because of the currently huge interest in his person.

But as nice as it was to know that that his inner circle had his back either way, Nico himself didn’t feel any unpleasant pressure - quite the contrary, actually: He couldn’t tell where it came from, but somehow, he had this premonition that he was on the right way to not only get a grand finale of this special Grand Prix weekend, but especially also in personal means: Because this was his chance to get rid of something that had stuck with him for far too long now - namely his sad record of never having been on the podium in almost ten years of F1.

He had been asked about it so often in interviews, through all the years, and it was even mentioned in his Wikipedia-article, that he was the driver with the most starts without a top-3-finish, with the corresponding number of races being neatly updated after every weekend while he’d been active. And although he was aware that it was only true facts, he had always felt about it as mockery, at least a slight bit. Because after all of his accomplishments in the junior series, where he had won both races and championships almost effortlessly, not to talk about the legendary weekend at Le Mans - after all that, it was still _this_ stigma that was linked to the name of Nico Hülkenberg. He’d be lying if he said that it had never bothered him.

But not he had the chance to change it, finally, at last. To put an exclamation mark behind something that had been a question with no answer for a long time.

And oh, the mere imagination of that caused Nico’s body to shiver with excitement.

Once again, he looked down on his phone hin his hands, literally holding all the love and support of the most important people in his life in his hands as well as the backing from his thousands of fans out there, who had not let him down even after he had dropped out of the grid and had welcomed him back last weeks with open arms and utter jubilation.

He took a deep breath, to let that beautiful feeling sink in, then he threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, determined to face this day, ready to break free from his curse. Ready to get this freaking podium, finally!

Because his beloved grandmother had not only used to say that things always seem to happen when you least expect them - but also that great things come to those who wait.

***

 **Monza, September 6** **th ** **\- Italy GP**

Lando’s heart was still racing wildly with adrenaline as he parked his McLaren in the Parc fermé, an indescribable feeling of high spirits within. P4! He finished P4! Finally! After latest rather difficult races, this was exactly what he needed.

Although a part of him was also a tiny bit sad that he had missed the podium, his overall joy outnumbered this spot of bother by much - because even if he had not made it into the top 3 in the end, someone else, though, _had_.

As quickly as possible, he did all the necessary settings to switch the car off correctly, then hurried to climb out, barely able to set the steering wheel back on with his fingers trembling astir. But as soon as he got it done, nothing was holding him back anymore. Lando knew that he had to go the scales first and that he’d get a ticking-off not only from the team if he didn’t, but today, he didn’t care. Without even thinking about the goddamn scales, he just ran off, right to where the top-3-cars were parked behind their ranking-signs - and where Carlos was celebrating with his mechanics already, all of them audibly jubilating and slapping him on his back in exuberant joy.

Without hesitation, Lando threw himself right at the Spaniard.

 _“YOU DID IT!!!”,_ he screamed, clutching him tightly from behind. _“YOU WON! YOU WON!!!!”_

In his emotional frenzy, it took Carlos a split second to realize _who_ was attacking him from behind there, but as soon as he got it, he quickly turned around.

 _“YEEEEES!!”,_ he yelled back, gripping Lando by the shoulders and pulling him into a strong hug in his flush of excitement, literally leaping up and down with joy. And even though they were both still wearing their helmets, Lando could see in the way the Spaniard’s eyes were sparkling how he was smiling all over his face, as they pulled back - and rightly so.

After having been in Formula 1 for more than 5 whole years now, Carlos finally had been able to claim his first victory today, in a spectacular race that surely nobody would forget that soon: Carlos had been strong all weekend, qualifying third right behind the two Merc’s, and he had also got away well at the start, brave-heartedly pushing his car to the limits. However, it had been when Magnussen had suffered engine failure in lap 18 and had to stop his car, that the race had taken an unexpected, even greater turn for the Spaniard: Because the Mercedes’ crew had called Hamilton in for a pit stop then, for whatever reason not noticing that the pit lane had been closed. Lewis had been given a stop-and-go-penalty for this incident, opening up an unprecedented chance for Carlos.

Of course, the race had still been in ongoing progress at this point, with more than 30 laps to go, and also another collective safety-car-pit-stopping had shuffled the field through quiet a lot, causing Carlos to drop back a few positions. So even though nothing had been cast in stone, they had secretly dared to dream the apparently no-longer-impossible in the garage.

And they had been right: Soon Carlos had been fighting for P1 again with Gasly, who thanks to the hurried mass-pit-stops had taken the lead. Oh, and they had been fighting hard, lap after lap, both of them pushing their cars to the limits. The McLaren crew had barely been able to watch the thrilling happenings on the screen, as Carlos had chased the Alpha Tauri down with less than half a second of distance for over ten laps, but somehow not getting past him.

And then, when everybody had already accepted that it’d “only” be a P2 this weekend, as it had not looked like Carlos would be able to make it - he had managed to do the overtake on the freaking last lap, taking advantage from Pierre missing the breaking point and locking his worn-out tires up.

Lando obviously hadn’t seen it himself, but he had known from the radio that Carlos had been in front of him, fighting the ranks with the Frenchman and Stroll breathing down his neck, and so as soon as he himself had crossed the line, Lando had asked about his teammate on the radio, where he had finished and wether he had won or not-

But the answer had been superfluous anyway, because in the moment he had spotted the other orange car on the in-lap and had seen Carlos throwing his fist in the air, he had known that his friend had made it; and it had caused him to get all excited as well.

Because the Spaniard deserved it so much. Lando knew better than anybody else how hard the older one worked for his aims, how hard he trained to be in his best shape both physically and mentally every single day and how much he had yearned for a win in his sixth year in this sport.

And now he had finally, finally made it, sealing the deal in the last lap like in a freaking Pixar-movie! Wow. If that’s not the story you want to tell about your maiden win, then Lando didn’t know either…!

The team was still over the moon on the Spaniard’s behalf, when they were standing underneath the great Monza podium fifteen minutes later, and so was Lando. All sweaty and tired from the race himself, he had hurried to do the after-race-press, because not for all the world he’d have missed to watch Carlos up there, how he was awarded his trophy for P1 - next to a (of course) disappointed Pierre Gasly and a delighted Lance Stroll, who hadn’t been too lucky throughout the last races either and therefore enjoyed this moment all the more.

But even though Lando had nothing against either of the two, he didn’t really care about them in this moment - his attention was fully and only on the man right in the middle of the podium. Even though his hands were already sore from applauding so much, he didn’t stop, and neither did anyone else on the team. They were too happy about seeing their man standing on the famous Monza-balcony, as McLaren’s first Grand Prix winner in 8 years.

And as such, Carlos of course got to spray champagne again, for the first time since Brazil last year - and, oh, it was clearly visible how much the Spaniard enjoyed this moment, this day, this _result,_ even from down on the ground, from wehre Lando watched him with utter pride, still relentlessly clapping his hands. He only stopped doing so, when after the initial jubilance Carlos’ and his gaze met through the flagging confetti shower and the older one gave him a thumbs-up from above, all radiant with happiness and with confetti flakes sticking to his champagne-wet face - but only so that he could return the unmistakable gesture to his friend, with a broad smile on his own lips. _Well done! You deserve it!_

And while doing so, Lando was subconsciously reminded how, when he had started with karting, his older brother had told him that he wouldn’t make friends here, at least no real ones. Because people competing in any type of motorsports were only anxious about their own benefits and that they could not begrudge others their success, nor be happy for anybody else than themselves. That real, honest friendships just couldn’t grow in such an environment.

Lando couldn’t help but smile even more as he still watched Carlos on the podium, holding his trophy with one and wiping over his face with the other hand, since, despite all joy, his eyes certainly must have been burning like crazy from the champagne-

Oh, what had Olli been wrong!

***

 **Bahrain, December 6** **th ** **\- Sakhir GP**

“Okay, George, we’re going to have to box, box. We have a mixed tyre set on the car”, Bono’s voice came from the in-ear’s and George felt his heart skip a beat at this news.

 _“What?!”,_ it slipped from his tongue, more straight-forward than he usually was, but he just couldn’t believe what he had heard. They had _mixed up his tires?! How on earth…?!_

Of course the pit stop had come unplanned and it definitely had been quite a hurry in the garage, as George had been close to the pit entry already when the safety car had been deployed - but hey, they were talking about Mercedes here, the record-winning constructors’ champion with an extremely ambitious and devoted pit crew! George had been able to witness their hard work from up close all weekend, which made it even harder to imagine that a spontaneous double-stop could challenge them, like - _at all?!_

But apparently it did, as Bono unfortunately confirmed the dreadful news on the radio and repeatedly called him to the box. He told him that they had confused his and Valterri’s tires in the hustle and bustle and had accidentally put on some on his car that actually belonged to the Fin, and that they had to change that back as quick as possible to avoid further investigation or even a penalty. However, at the same time, the race engineer with the calm voice also promised George that, telling from the data, he’d be able to get back to the lead in short time and that they’d also have a big tyre advantage now over the others.

 _I bloody hope so,_ George thought to himself when he came back to the track, with clenched teeth and literally putting the pedal to the metal as he fought his way through the field again, trying to get back to P1 as quick as possible.

He wanted this win so badly. It was his once-in-a-lifetime-chance, from zero to hero, literally. After mainly fighting to even get into Q2 with Williams for the last two years, he now finally had the chance to take a victory again. He had almost forgotten how awesome it felt to lead the field, to take front rank. But when he had dauntlessly fought his way past Valterri at the start and all of a sudden had had nobody in front of him anymore - then it had all come back to him, his hunger for a win stronger than ever.

And even if this incident with the tires was indeed a set-back, which made the whole endeavour more complicated than he’d have preferred, he was still determined to take that fucking podium, that win, if not even more determined than before-

But unfortunately, the odds were not in his favour this evening, because only a few laps later, Bono called him over the radio again and gave the final death blow to his dream: “Looks like rear left puncture. Looks like rear left puncture!”, the race engineer told him - and George felt as if the rug was pulled from underneath his feet. Best he had wanted to just scream in response, overwhelmed by boundless bewilderment. _NO! NO! This can’t be true!_

But it was. He had to box again and get himself _another_ set of tires, and if he liked it or not, he couldn’t help but let all the other cars past and watch his dream of his maiden win in F1 receding into unaccessible distance…

“George! Hey! _George!”_

Abruptly George jumped awake, jerking up in bed as if stung by an adder - only to see… Nicholas by his side? _What the…?!_

“Hey, hey, relax”, the Canadian said, trying his best to put on a reassuring face. “It’s okay. You’re- you’re fine.”

However, George was far too perplexed to even listen to him. Automatically, he let his bleary gaze dart around, blinking a few times in order to clear his vision. Was this… his hotel room?! But- why was he here and not…? Where were the cars? Had he crashed or retired or whatever and then fallen asleep here; did they have to leave for Abu Dhabi now…?

But it dawned on him that none of that was the case, when Nicholas said only a second later: “Seems like someone had some pretty wild dreams. Not quite what you need on a day like this, hm?” - and then it all came back at once, causing his eyes to go wide with surprise. Without answering to his teammate’s question, he hastily reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone; a crazy premonition in his head when he pressed on the button to light up the display with his trembling fingers - and then he knew it safely:

 _8:10 am,_ it said on his lockscreen; and on the line below: _Sunday, 6_ _th_ _of December._

George felt his heart speed up in his chest as he conceived that it was only Sunday morning. That he had just dreamt this horrendous course of the race and that none of it had actually happened. That it still was all up in the air, everything possible - and so also his win!

George could hardly believe his luck, truly feeling as if a giant load was taken off his mind. Almost bursting with excitement, he looked up from the phone screen again, directly into Nicholas’ slightly confused face - which made him only then remember that his teammate had actually asked him a question.

“Oh, yeah, definitely not, no!”, George hurried to answer and put the phone aside again, smiling in apology for the belated response - and also because he just couldn’t help it, confronting the massive wave of relief flooding through his body. _It had only been a bad dream! Only a dream!_

“Thanks for waking me up”, he swiftly added, reminded of his good manners, and causing the concern in Nicholas’ face to vanish on the spot.

“Oh, no problem”, he replied, back with his usual friendly smile - however, he then got serious again in the next second, as he pointed at George all warningly. “But just so you know, I won’t accept this excuse. You have to win a race today, Mister!”

George couldn’t help but smile even wider at this “threat”.

“Yeah, I guess…”, he admitted, because he was not really a fan of forced understatement, never had been, and he knew that Nicholas was the same. In their sport, you had to be confident about your capabilities and keep the faith in order to make it, focussing on your strengths instead of your mistakes. Nevertheless, George felt the need to add something today: “As long as nothing unexpected happens…”, he said with reference to his truly horrific nightmare, which had felt more frightening to him than any of those that he had had as a child, like, with monsters and spiders coming after him.

No, this one had undoubtedly been worse, because of the alarming potential realness to it; and although George knew it was not in his power alone, he’d do anything to prevent _this_ from coming true.

His teammate, though, just grinned at his objection.

“Well, it’s definitely not gonna be _me_ challenging you for it, so…”, he joked, as it was beyond question that there were worlds between the Williams and the Mercedes that George got to drive this weekend.

And although this probably would have caused severe dissension and jealousy between others, Nicholas just once more lived up to the cliché of the friendly Canadian and laughed about it, and George couldn’t help but join in. Not taking themselves too seriously and proudly embracing their regular spot in the last positions was their way of dealing with the missing competitiveness of their cars, and George was glad that it also was today, when he’d be busy on the whole other end of the pit lane.

“No, honestly, good luck”, his teammate wished him again after the giggles, back to serious, and his expression was honest and sincere as he spoke. “You deserve it.”

George gave him a grateful smile in response. “Thanks, Nicky. That… means a lot”, he said - and it really did. Because although they’d only been teammates since that year, George quite liked the older one. He was a much nicer and more humble person in reality than his unfortunate reputation as a “pay driver” would suggest. No, George was certain that it could have hit him way worse with a new teammate - he got along well with the older one.

And this feeling appeared to be mutual when the latter smiled back at him, with not even the tiniest spark of disfavour in his face, before he then pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

“By the way- you can have the bathroom, I’m done”, Nicholas said and only then George noticed how he was already all dressed up in sports gear - having shared hotel rooms a few times this season, he meanwhile knew that his teammate loved to go for a morning run in order to clear his mind before the races, at least if the schedule allowed him to.

And because the schedules of in all things F1 were always rather concisely planned, George didn’t want to hold him up any longer and just wished him a nice round, before he eventually got out of bed himself - high time!

Quickly taking his clothing and toiletry bag from the suitcase, he went to the small bathroom only a brief moment after the room door had fallen shut behind Nicholas, leaving the Briton alone with his thoughts.

And as he met his own gaze in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile to himself with indescribable happiness and relief.

It was Sunday morning. The race was still ahead of them, the outcome still remaining open. His miraculous victory still possible. Well, if that was not the best news he’d heard in weeks…!

Subconsciously humming along while he got himself ready, George thought of how also Carlos Sainz had won a race for the first time this season, and how even unlucky Hulkenberg, when he had jumped in as a substitute, had managed to claim his first podium - as had more drivers this season than ever before.

And now he, George William Russell, himself had the bright chance to do the same, to even stand right in the middle of the podium, to win the race, for the first time in F1!

Dressed in his surprisingly really suiting Mercedes-team wear, the Briton looked at himself in the mirror reflection; and in the next second, the corners of his mouth were twitching with the thrill of anticipation, his fingers tingling with excitement, already yearning to finally get hold of the steering wheel and start.

He gave himself a last, complacent look in the mirror, then he turned to leave the bathroom, ready to go to the track still with a smirk on his face.

_Let’s do this!_

***

 **Bonus:  
** **United Arab Emirates, December 13** **th ** **\- Abu Dhabi GP**

 _“¡Grande, Checo, GRANDE!” (Great, Checo, great!),_ Antonio Pérez jubilated and bear hugged his son, pulling him into his arms before Sergio had a chance to even take his helmet off. But of course he didn’t mind - he was just as happy with the race result himself. _“¡Estuviste increíble! ¡Qué fantástica última carrera! ¡Estoy tan orgulloso de ti!” (You were amazing! What a fantastic last race! I’m so proud of you!)_

With a big smile on his face, he returned the hug, as his father showered him with compliments.

 _“¡Gracias papá!”,_ he said, as his dad’s praise still meant a lot to him. He had always been his closest confidant throughout his whole career, no matter if it had been about drying little Checo’s tears of frustration after a lost kart race or fulfilling him his big dream to leave Mexico to compete in European racing series or even about discussing to which team he should go.

So when they pulled back after a few seconds and his father looked at him overwhelmed with paternal pride, Sergio wished more than anything else to be able to tell him, but he was not allowed - not yet. And for the same reason, he was very relieved that he was still wearing his helmet, which hid his broad smile from ear to ear, as he thought to himself: _Yes, it has been a great race - but it would not be his last._

**Author's Note:**

> I know this one is different to what I usually write (...Carlando ♥), but I _really_ wanted to do this when I read the prompt - little bit like self-therapy ;)
> 
> Hope you liked it still and don't worry, Carlando-content will be up next again! ♥


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